Chapter 9

The amount of time spent sitting around the freight terminal in the cold, wet, Colorado morning had slowly begun to drive Chucky insane. The darkness enveloping him as he sat, with no legitimate means of escape from his, now soggy, cardboard prison. The polystyrene flakes were beginning to irritate as he was manhandled over and over again, thrown from one person to the next and slammed on various tables and conveyor belts, only the whirring of the machinery and the humming of various airport security equipment to be heard as they scanned his box. He had felt a sigh of relief wash over him as he had been thrown in the back of the van, the blatant, undisputable sound of the side door sliding shut behind him, ready to begin his arduous trek from Denver and onwards up to Aspen. The slushy roads and ice cold temperatures of the fresh, early afternoon had already taken their toll as he found himself curling up, as much as the confines of his box would allow him, a valiant effort to keep warm as the freezing winter weather began to set in. After an hour or so of driving, and hearing the tone deaf driver sing along to everything from White Zombie to Dolly Parton, Chucky finally closed his eyes and drifted off into a deep sleep. He had no idea what time it was, he'd spent what felt like an eternity clearing customs before finally being picked up with the afternoon mail, the voices outside indicating about 2pm. He'd tried to catch some sleep on the flight, but the noise of the engines, echoing through the cargo hold made the task impossible. But now, finally, the rocking of the van on the clear, wet tarmac began to lull him off and into whatever nightmare awaited.

He was stood on a rickety, wooden, porch...

The vast cornfields around him stretching into the distance, as far as the eye could see, rows and rows of corn, the rough, untidy leaves, luscious green, protruding from the fields around him. As he looked up to the moon in the night sky he couldn't notice how bright it appeared, the light so strong he was forced to literally hold his hand up, shielding his eyes from the brilliant white of the full moon, which seemed to be growing larger still in the night sky. It was as he attempted to shield his eyes that he noticed something.

His hand...

It was perfectly fine. There was no stitching, no scarring, no damage whatsoever. Lowering his hand and turning it over, he found himself amazed, euphoric as he swung his head to take in the view his other hand had to offer, laughing as he did, hands held out in front of him, staring at his palms in disbelief.

The other hand was the same...

No crude stitches, no rough, worn plastic digits. They were good as new, so were his clothes. He looked straight down, taking in his overalls, bright blue, the Good Guy logo emblazoned across his little chest in garish red, his jumper underneath full of stripes, vibrant, multi-coloured stripes. Reds, greens, blues, all colours, these clothes were brand new. Before he knew it, he'd lifted his hands to his face, feeling for the familiar pattern of ugly blemishes and splits in his plastic skin, but alas, he found nothing. He couldn't believe it as he let out a laugh. This was like the good old days, fresh and hungry as his murderous appetite knew no bounds, unstoppable. Spinning on the spot he found himself looking back at a small shack. Not too small, but only a one person dwelling, the appearance completely the opposite of how he looked. The broken glass of the front door, the faded, peeling wooden face of the building lending it an ugly and unkempt look as the cobwebs rested in the corners of each window, spiders hastily racing back and forth, their webs littered with hundreds of freshly ensnared flies. As Chucky approached the shack he stared into a shard of glass, still resting in the door as it hung by a solitary hinge, creaking as it swung in the gentle night time breeze. Holding out his hand, he caught the door, stopping it from swinging immediately, the breeze suddenly stopping and sending a shiver up his spine. Looking into the dusty, cracked glass he focused and tilted his head, angling it upwards as he took in his reflection, the freshly painted, brand new face of a Good Guy looking back at him, freckles, bright blue eyes, the works. It was as he lifted his hand to his chin and felt his face while staring at his reflection that he noticed something in the shack, in the back of the room, darting across his vision. His eyes flickered as he lowered his hands, instinctively placing one inside his overalls, withdrawing it to find a huge kitchen knife now clenched in his fist. Taking a step forward, Chucky grabbed the door and pulled, the metal hinge unable to take any more as it was suddenly torn from the wooden door frame, falling swiftly and landing on top of him, pinning him to the floor.

"What the fuck?" He whispered to himself as he placed his hands under the edge of the door, levering it up and away, letting it drop to the side with an almighty bang. "That's a new one."

Standing to his feet, he quickly brushed himself down before resuming his duties, the shape that had not long since flickered past his peripheral vision still inside the shack. Inside there was a smell, damp and resembling rotting fish, as he stared around at the interior to see water running from the walls, dripping from the light fitting that hung perfectly still in the centre f the room, as though somebody had left a bath running upstairs. But this shack didn't have an upstairs. As that thought entered his mind, he took a step forward, lowering his eyes from the light fitting and immediately training his eyes on the floor, that had suddenly become sticky underfoot. He was completely confused now, the floor beneath his feet stained in blood, beginning to pool, rising by the second. He turned to look at the walls, and now noticed the water had indeed turned to blood, racing from the corner of the four walls and gushing outwards over the floor, spreading to his very location. Without giving it a second thought, Chucky moved, his feet sticking at first as the blood congealed under him, but soon picking up pace and racing across the floor, thick, maroon blood splashing up and coating him as he ran. He'd just about reached the kitchen door when the most deafening roar he had ever had the misfortune to hear, erupted behind him, Chucky spinning his head, glancing back over his shoulder as the blood grouped together, forming a shape in the middle of the room. Rising as one, taking on the shape of a huge hand as it rose dramatically from the floor, the hand came crashing down behind Chucky, narrowly missing him as he dived head first through the door and into the kitchen, the open palm of the bloody hand crashing into the wooden floor and exploding, showering Chucky, completely covering him. He sat up, looking back into the room he'd literally just ran from and was amazed. It now seemed to be perfectly decorated, filled with soft, natural sunlight, white's and pinks adorning the walls, the thickest carpet you could imagine laid out across the floor while a child's wooden rocking horse sat gently galloping to itself in the far corner, next to the wonderfully restored front door.

"What the fuck?" He asked himself as he looked down at his hand, locked tight around the handle of the knife, coated in the viscous blood shower from just seconds ago. He looked back into the living room, turning suddenly to the kitchen he found himself sat in, dilapidated and half demolished, the wall almost caved in, the fitted cupboards and units filled with mould and rat droppings. But something sat in the middle of the floor, something familiar, that he hadn't seen for many years. Rising quickly to his feet, he scampered across the filthy lino that sat covering patches of the kitchen floor and grabbed the object. It was a doll. Not just any doll, but a voodoo doll. Dressed head to toe in white, the tiny red belt sat anchored around the waist and a childish scribble of a snake wrapped around some kind of sceptre. Chucky knew this doll, and as he had picked it up he recognised it had remained exactly the same as the last time he had seen it. The right leg snapped, the left arm also broken at the elbow. But more disturbingly was the split suddenly opening up in the middle of the chest, yet more blood starting to slowly weep from the wound, before turning into a steady flow, gushing from god only knew where. Before he knew it, the flow of blood had reached such a high pressure it was spraying over his leg and rising, steadily, up his overalls, past his groin, to his chest before suddenly the pressure became like a fire hose, throwing Chucky from the middle of the room and into the far wall, landing with a crash next to the back door, releasing his grip on the doll. Make no mistake, this was the same doll he had used to end the life of John Bishop years earlier, the renegade worshipper of Damballa that had taken Chucky under his wing, taught him all he could. Just then he heard a noise, emanating from the garden out back, filtering in through the empty doorway, as though something were calling him. Standing once again, shaken and dazed, Chucky wondered what the hell was going on. He'd never experienced anything like this before. He'd eaten some bad mushrooms once before, but that was different completely, although still strangely as horrific as what he was experiencing now. Steadily stepping through the back door he found the garden to be nothing but a gravel track, the expanse of cornfields once again seeming to stretch on infinitely into the horizon. Then he heard the noise again, this was without doubt the most lucid dream he had ever had, yet the fear projected on him had no limit, the hairs down his arms now standing to attention.

Wait...

Hairs on his arms?

What was going on?

He hadn't noticed before, but since standing from the kitchen floor, he had grown taller. His clothes had also changed, from the bright, colourful overalls he was so accustomed to, to a more formal suit and tweed overcoat. His hair also hung down his shoulders, no longer a burning red colour, but a much more haunting black. Turning, he looked into the kitchen window and found himself surprised at his reflection. There, staring straight back at him was none other than himself. Human, Charles Lee Ray, in the flesh, literally. The eyes were filled with doubt as he struggled to accept what was looking back at him, his head spinning with confusion, when suddenly and out of nowhere, his reflection jumped forward, cradling his face in its hands and staring into his eyes. He noticed his reflection, now hanging from the window pane, had suddenly developed a series of stitches across its face as it spoke, the forked tongue slithering away as it looked into his very soul and, lifting one hand away from his face, extended a long, slender arm towards the cornfields behind him.

"Out there..." The reflection of Charles Lee Ray spoke as it kept hold of Chucky's face with its free hand.

"What?" Chucky gasped, trying to turn his head, the grip of the reflection not allowing it.

"He's out there..." It repeated.

"Who?" Chucky asked, starting to worry even more, his chin beginning to feel cold, wet and sticky as the reflection rubbed its fingers on his face.

"The man..." It hissed.

Snapping his head around, Chucky broke free and turned on the spot, looking down from the rear porch and over the cornfields, seeing movement in the corn just a few metres in. He turned back to the window, to see his reflection once more, but it proved fruitless, the window just returning the lost, and panicked look he aimed at it. Noticing something, he raised his hand, knife and all, to his chin and ran the back of his hand across his face, a streak of blood appearing from nowhere. Chucky gave a shake of his head and stepped down from the porch, repeating to himself, over and over again...

"This isn't real, this isn't real..."

Before he knew it, he'd reached the corn, the tall leaves rustling just metres up ahead as Chucky carefully and apprehensively stepped into the giant crops and made his way towards the noise coming from in front of him. He stopped suddenly as he reached a mini clearing, the corn disappearing around the site he now observed. On the floor in front of him, sat a fresh grave, the earth covering the burial site still fresh, somebody obviously filling the grave in only recently. The head stone was covered in muck and dust, so much that Chucky couldn't read the chiselled inscription underneath, instead having to bend over and, using his free hand, brush away the dirt. What he read brought a chill to every inch of his body, the fear racing through like lightning, ejected from the skies and spat out across the land. He was still stood, bent over and observing the headstone when a flurry of hands ejected from the fresh grave and started grabbing him, pulling him downwards as the earth opened up. One grabbed his tie, others grabbed his feet and he felt another grabbing and ripping at his hair, more hands gripping the bottom of his trousers. As he was pulled easily into the gaping hole in the earth, he was astonished as he looked down in terror. A blonde woman, his name tattooed across her chest, flanked on either side by two children, both with the most incendiary red hair he could imagine, laughing as they pulled him deeper and deeper still. Before he knew it, he was up to his neck, the dirt closing in around him as he took one last deep breath and managed to get a final look at the head stone finally disappearing underneath. The inscription on the headstone still making his blood run cold as the life was effortlessly squeezed from his lungs.

HERE LIES
THE RAY FAMILY
CLAIMED AT LAST
BY ALMIGHTY DAMBALLA

It was at this moment that the delivery van suddenly came to an abrupt halt, Chucky's box slung from one end of the van to the other in the most unceremonious fashion imaginable, other boxes around him clattering and falling every way possible. Before he could shake off the cobwebs, Chucky heard the side door of the van click before sliding opening, the whooshing noise ever familiar as the metal door slid along the runners. He opened his eyes and lifted his hand as far as he could through the polystyrene, trying and failing to rub his eyes. That dream had freaked him out a little, and he wasn't afraid to admit it. Before he could come to, he felt his box instantly yanked upwards, his stomach turning over and over, like some evil rollercoaster as he was manhandled up and down. The gaps between the cardboard around his feet suddenly lit up red, the driver scanning the barcode that adorned his box and ticking the item off his list.

"1783 Laurel Avenue..." Chucky heard the driver whisper to himself as the van door slid shut with a bang. He must have been swinging round, looking desperately for the house, as Chucky had started to feel nauseous, his box beginning to feel like some kind of centrifuge.

"This must be it." The driver said as he came to a standstill, suddenly starting to walk, a slight incline in his trajectory.

Laying perfectly still, trying not to move a muscle, Chucky yawned as he prepared himself. Expecting the unexpected. He could hear the unnamed driver knocking on the glass door, and a very faint cry asking him to wait a second. Before he knew it, the door opened and he could hear the friendliest, cutest and most annoying voice he had ever had the privilege of hearing in all his years. He used to think Tiffany was irritating, but he could tell immediately that one day with this cheerful bitch would make his urine boil.

"Oh my!" The sugar coated tones cried. "For me?"

"Guess so ma'am." The driver replied. "No name though, just the address."

"Oh that'll be my daughter," The woman said. "She's always sending me things since she left for college. I miss my Milly so much. You're lucky you caught me, I only just finished work!"

'Milly?' thought Chucky. 'Who the hell is this fucking idiot?' But before he could think another word, he felt himself thrown from one side of the box to the other, the woman snatching the parcel from the delivery guy without so much as a thank you or good bye. Moving forward, he heard the barking of a dog as the front door was heard to slam shut behind them, the dog becoming louder and louder still.

"Henry, get down!" The woman scorned the dog as she slammed Chucky's box down. He could hear the dog, he'd stopped barking, but the panting noise of an easily excited canine was still pretty audible as the woman seemed to be yanking drawer after drawer open looking for something.

"Now, where did I put those scissors?" She asked herself.

Listening to her, Chucky had built up a mental image over the last two minutes. She sounded jolly, and the way he had been thrown slightly side to side as she walked gave him the impression she was a large woman, waddling from one end of the house to the other. He placed her at around about the late forties, maybe early fifties, but he couldn't be sure. One thing he did know, she couldn't possibly look any more annoying than she sounded.

"Ah, here they are... Henry will you get down!" She yelled again, the sniffing off the dogs nose sounding crystal clear up against the openings in Chucky's box. "Now let's see what we have here."

Suddenly, before he could even think of doing anything, the blade of the scissors came slicing through the tape holding the flaps of the box together, stopping millimetres from Chucky's overalls, an ounce more pressure and she'd have cut him good. His eyes widening, shock setting in, the blade started moving down, faster, more frantic before reaching the bottom, fingers suddenly appearing and yanking open the cardboard. As the light came flooding in, Chucky fought the urge to shield his eyes, something he desperately wanted to do as he could feel his retinas burning from the sudden change. Playful smile slapped all over his 'doll like' face, Chucky stared straight up at the ceiling of the room, the woman only visible in his peripheral vision. Confused, the woman reached into the box and lifted him up, the polystyrene flakes clinging to him before gradually falling clear and landing back in the box as the woman brought him up her eye level, holding him upright and staring him up and down.

"What in the name of...?" She muttered to herself, Henry beginning to bark again, louder, constantly. "Henry, I will not tell you again!" She snapped her head to the side, focusing her attention on the dog before returning her gaze to Chucky.

"Hi, I'm Chucky." He blinked as his little mouth moved. "And I'm your friend... To the end! Hidey ho... Ha ha ha!"

Looking back at the woman from behind his false, painted on, cuteness, Chucky hadn't been far off the mark in his estimation. Early fifties, about 190lbs, heavily caked in make-up and with her hair held up in a tight bun, this woman bore all the classic hallmarks of an annoying neighbour. Somebody that wouldn't let you so much as park an inch over her drive without racing from behind her twitching net curtain and giving you an earful. The name tag she wore implied her name was Marie, the work uniform obviously for one of the local businesses here in the popular ski resort of Aspen, Colorado.

"Well aren't you just the cutest little thing?" She pulled Chucky into her generous bosom and gave him a huge squeeze, cuddling him, burying his head in her flesh as she hugged him tighter and tighter. He didn't know what was happening here, but this wasn't the kind of reaction he was used to. As Marie hugged her new best friend, she could hear him speak again, his voice muffled as he spoke. Releasing her vice like grip and holding him up in the air she looked at him again, stitches and all.

"What was that little man?" She asked, her face lighting up. Chucky guessed he'd hit the mother of all freaks with this one.

"Cuddles are for girls..." He laughed, his eyes blinking again. "Let's not cuddle again... Ha ha ha."

"Well whatever you say." Marie laughed as she set him down on the counter, startled as her phone suddenly started ringing, the monotonous tone blaring from the living room. Leaving Chucky sat on the kitchen counter, Marie turned and waddled her way into the living room, the ringing stopping as soon as she reached the phone. Seizing his chance, Chucky took a quick look around, the kitchen immaculate and clean, not a thing out of place. Luckily enough, the scissors Marie had used to open his box lay right beside him, the exceedingly sharp blades glinting in the reflection of the kitchen light as darkness began to settle outside the window, over the horizon. The dog was becoming a nuisance too. He'd figured it was a pretty big dog, the bark startling him as he had been brought in from the cold, but not this big. Before him, sat with its tongue hanging from its mouth, panting in excitement, sat the biggest and most playful golden retriever Chucky had ever seen. It seemed more curious about Chucky than anything, simply sat staring at him sat on the kitchen counter, a new friend for him to play with maybe? Grabbing the scissors Chucky quickly placed them in his overalls before turning back to his new, excited friend.

"Get out of here you little shit!" He hissed violently, raising his hand, fist clenched. As he did, the dog whimpered, standing and spinning on the spot before bolting from the kitchen. He then noticed Marie's voice had become incredibly quiet as he heard footsteps approaching from the hall.

Time to get out of here and across the road to Alice.

As Marie entered the kitchen, she fumbled with the name tag, secured by a pin to her shirt, carefully removing it and placing it on the counter beside the freshly opened box. Looking at the clock she noted the time, 6:45pm, and made her way over to the oven, slowly turning the temperature gauge, the oven lighting up immediately. At that precise moment, alarm bells started ringing in Marie's head as she slowly, and steadily stood upright and turned, her body moving as one solid, rigid object.

Chucky was gone.

Confusion began to cloud Marie's mind as she approached the kitchen counter, wondering if her mind was playing tricks on her, if she'd actually returned Chucky to his box, but as she came to a stop in front of the box, she found this was not the case. The only other answer was Henry, her beloved 4 year old retriever had jumped up and grabbed him, no doubt gripping Chucky in his soft mouth and shaking him to bits. She turned and headed back out of the kitchen and down the hall, entering the living room, lit only by a solitary lamp in the far corner. As she stood in the doorway of the living room, her eyes narrowed and her ears began to listen for any slight sound coming from anywhere inside. Then she heard it. Over in the corner of the room and behind the couch, in the corner next to the sideboard. Marie moved quickly, as she made her way past her favourite arm chair and over to the other side of the room, ready to scold Henry for misbehaving, although she knew how playful a demeanour he had, and couldn't help but love him all the more for it. Resting one knee on the couch and placing her hands on the arm she suddenly lunged over and tried to surprise Henry, but had a surprise of her own waiting for her. Henry was there, but now Chucky. Instead, Henry lay with his head buried between his paws, ever so slightly trembling, something obviously upsetting him, making him retreat to this corner of the room, cowering in fear. It was then that Marie heard laughter behind her, spinning her head in shock as she did, instincts taking over. She couldn't believe it. There, in the arm chair she had literally just walked past, sat Chucky. Eyes staring dead ahead, smiling innocently, despite the stitches that ran amok over his face. Marie didn't know what to make of it. She had walked past that chair just seconds ago, and was absolutely sure it had been empty. Standing, Marie brushed herself down, straightening her blouse and dress, and walked slowly, nervously over to Chucky. She slowly leaned over and looked into his eyes, mystery confronting her as she did so.

"How did you get there?" She whispered. Half asking Chucky, half asking herself.

She stretched out her arms and grabbed him under his arms lifting him up, high above her head, allowing him to look down on her as she examined ever stitch ad blemish once more. Just then there was a knock at the door, the pounding sounding through the hall and into the living room. Marie's head automatically spun to the living room door, surprised by the explosion of noise from out front. Just as she did this, Chucky reached into his overalls and removed the long, incredibly sharp scissors, just as Marie noticed and turned her head back to him. She was just in time to see the malevolent, joyous smirk cross his lips as his eyes narrowed, his arm swinging down through the air, the scissors cutting in at an angle before suddenly piercing the side of Maries throat, so fast and with so much power that the tips of the blades instantly emerged from the other side. Marie's eyes widened as shock took over, her grip on Chucky relinquishing allowing him to fall to the floor unscathed. She gasped as she tried to breathe, but it proved pointless, no such luck as she desperately tried to shout, alert whoever stood at her front door. Blood gushed down Marie's blouse as she staggered frantically, reaching out to steady herself as her head became light, her vision becoming cloudy. As she tried again to inhale, she now found herself seeming to invite death that little bit quicker as she sucked blood down her throat and into her lungs, the painful feeling as her chest began to throb, causing even more alarm. Unable to hold onto the sideboard that sat along the back wall of the living room, Marie crashed to the ground, landing on her side, the handles of the scissors smacking into the surface of the hardwood floor and pushing the scissors that little bit deeper. Suddenly, Henry appeared from around the corner of the couch, bravery instilled as he watched his owner, distressed, fighting for her life at the hands of this tiny stranger that had frightened him so. Whoever stood at the front door had now started knocking again, causing Chucky to turn to the living room door, before turning and addressing Henry again, the barking proving too loud for Chucky to handle.

"Shhhhhut up, you fucking idiot!" Chucky spat, his furious whisper causing the dog to bark even louder.

The knocking had become even louder too, somebody really seemed to want to see this woman, the barking most likely echoing down the hall and towards the front door, alerting whoever stood outside. Surveying the scene and figuring there was only one option, Chucky approached Marie's body and lifted his leg, kicking her over and onto her back. Then grabbing the handles of the scissors, Chucky yanked them forward, Marie's larynx slicing open immediately, a spray of blood covering Chucky as he closed his eyes and felt the still warm blood cloud his face. Then turning to the Henry, whose barking had remained deafening as he bounded about the room, jumping from left to right, backwards and forwards, Chucky knew what he had to do.

'There's a first time for everything after all.' He thought to himself as he held the scissors tightly in his fist, extending his other arm and beckoning Henry towards him with his index finger.

"Come here boy!" Chucky playfully whispered as he lifted the scissors high above his head, swinging them down towards Henry.

Back in Chicago, John Bishop now found himself sat in the company of Vincent Dolucca, a glass of rum each by their sides as they had talked long into the evening, addressing the matter at hand.

"Do you think she will know what to do?" Vincent asked.

"We can only hope." John answered as he lifted his glass. "But I am sure she will succeed in sending the abomination on his way."

"Let us hope this is so brother." Vincent replied. "And the girl in Los Angeles?"

"I have contacted our brothers on the west coast. They are to act in due course." John softly spoke.

"Then everything shall be how it is intended." Vincent smiled as he sat back in his chair. John nodded.

"Indeed Vincent. It is unfortunate, but all worthwhile things require certain sacrifices." John said. "Miss Pirce knows this. That is why she will act without thinking twice. We can only hope that she carries out our request when the time comes, and does not simply act to fulfil her own ambitions. But I am confident she will make Damballa proud."

"And Jeffrey?" Vincent casually asked as he eyeballed the drink in his hand, rolling the glass and allowing his rum to swill around hypnotically before lifting the glass and gulping down the contents in a single shot.

"It did not prove easy, but alas, he has the address of Mr Ray's next target and is ready to move." John answered calmly. "Fear not, this entire ordeal will soon be over."

With that, the two men poured another glass of rum and sat in silence. John Bishop was correct. Pretty soon, it would all be over. But which way would the tide turn?

Leaving deep, yet incredibly small and bloody footprints in the snow, Chucky had carefully made his way outside and over the road, Alice's house his destination as he ducked behind various trash cans, vehicles and walls. He'd learned to be exceedingly nimble over the time he had spent in this body and true to form, he was pretty sure that he had made it over without being seen as he now found himself stood outside the house, the wide open basement window looking like the best point of entry. As he stood in the dark, cold Aspen evening, he noticed the small flakes of snow floating around him as he held his hand out. He hadn't seen snow since... Jesus had it been so long? He hadn't seen snow since Chicago, 1988.

'How time flies.' He thought.

Dropping to his knees and sticking his head through the window frame, he had been happy to find the basement completely devoid of life. Nothing down there except the furnace and a few bags of cement. Swinging his legs under the open window and pushing himself into the basement, he landed without making much noise and took another look around. Nothing down here of any interest except the stairs leading up into the house. Approaching the stairs, Chucky took them a step at a time, checking every now and then for a creaking board, walking as much to the side as possible, to avoid needlessly giving the game away. It was pretty easy, he didn't weigh much at all and he was quite quick on his feet at the best of time. Reaching the top step, he found the door into the kitchen to be slightly open, the light from outside creeping in through the crack between the door and the frame. Carefully edging his head out, he took a look into the light and pushed the door open, the slightest creak coming from the one of the hinges as the door swung open to reveal an empty, dark kitchen, the light instead coming from the living room next door. It was eerily quiet in the house, no TV, no radio, no shouting. What the hell were they doing? Looking around the kitchen, Chucky stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes lighting up like a kid on the fourth of July, fireworks exploding across his brain as he took in the sight of the block of knives sat on the kitchen counter. He instantly took the scissors from his overalls and threw them to the ground, pulling one of the drawers from the unit and standing on it, levering himself slightly higher up and grabbing the hard, plastic handle of one of the knives, removing it from the block and feeling satisfaction wash over him as he noticed the length of the blade, the sharpness of it. The blade must have been nine inches in length, the minimal, serrated teeth providing more than enough firepower as he turned the knife over in the low light spilling in from the living room. Jumping down from the drawer, Chucky started to march towards the living room, a floorboard suddenly creaking under his weight. He stopped, remaining absolutely still, his ears pricking up as he listened for the sounds of a startled resident.

Nothing...

With that, he moved forward again, entering the living room, again finding the room empty before silently gliding across the thick rug that lay covering the wooden floor, reaching the beautifully lacquered pine staircase. The spindles and banister that decorated the staircase were incredibly well carved, intricate and beautiful as they led up into the next floor from the minimalist decor of the living room. Chucky grabbed hold of one to steady himself and felt the detail of the hand carved spindle against the plastic flesh of his palm. In no time at all he had reached the top step, no light apart from the haunting illumination cast from below. Chucky swung his head and found himself in a narrow hall, four doors available, but the one immediately in front of him making his eyes sparkle as he waved the knife in front of his face and allowed a smile to appear. The door in front had a pink sticker emblazoned across it, the name reading 'Alice'. Grabbing the handle of the door, Chucky slowly, and gently twisted, the door making a sharp snapping sound as it first moved in the door frame, but immediately silencing as he pushed it further open, the bed in front of him harbouring a lump under the thick, warm duvet as the moonlight flickered in through the snow covered window. It was time to let Alice know she had a visitor, and he wasn't about to disappoint. Silently striding into the room, Chucky noticed how sparse Alice's collection of toys were. Nothing in the way of dolls, which didn't surprise him one bit, but a few board games and a collection of kids DVDs were strewn across the floor. Grabbing one of the plastic storage boxes filled to the lid, ready to burst, with games and various other toys, Chucky pulled it alongside the bed and quietly stepped up, now level with Alice as she lay completely covered by the thick winter duvet. His eyes lighting up, knife down by his side, Chucky leaned slightly forward and gently grasped the duvet, suddenly yanking it back in one fluid movement as he greeted Alice.

"Surpri..." He didn't get any further. Before he knew it, a forearm had come swinging out of nowhere, catching him square in the side of the head and sending him tumbling to the floor, crashing into the drawers besides Alice's bed. As Chucky shook his head, shaking away the cobwebs, he gathered himself and let his vision clear, the blurriness beginning to dissipate. The view that greeted him made electricity crackle through every hair on his head, his heart ignited in anger and his pupils dilated as Nica Pirce sat bolt upright, a look of furious rage spread across her face.

"You!?" Chucky spat in disbelief, struggling to believe his eyes. How was this possible? She was supposed to be miles away, still under the impression he was in Longcroft, slowly rotting from the inside out.

"What's the matter Charles?" She demonically asked. "Not what you were expecting?"

"You fucking slut!" Chucky raged back at her as he stood to his feet. "I'm gonna finish what I started twenty five years ago you crippled fucker!"

With that, Chucky immediately charged at Nica, the knife in his hand held out front, swinging in a furious frenzy. Nica had no option but to hold her hands out, catching Chucky by the throat, choking him as his hands went to work, slashing away as the knife cut into her forearms, Nica screaming in pain with every cut as the blood started to gush down her wrist. In a desperate attempt to stop him, Nica found herself lifting Chucky and throwing him, head first, over the bed, Chucky crashing into the Alice's wardrobe door before landing upside down and disappearing out of sight beneath the bed. Nica looked at her wrists, the blood flowing from the various slash marks Chucky had administered. Grabbing one of Alice's pillow cases, Nica wrapped it as tight as she could in a last ditch attempt to stem the bleeding, her head beginning to feel light and dizzy. Then, slowly, she started to crawl over the bed, gradually peering over the edge of the bed and at the floor where Chucky should be. But there was no Chucky, his body gone. Suddenly Nica heard a scream as she immediately felt Chucky land on her back as he screamed at her in anger.

"You filthy fucking bitch!" He yelled as he gripped his tiny hands on her shoulders and started to sink his teeth into her neck, Nica screaming, the pain shooting through her like wildfire. Feeling one of Chucky's hands let go of her shoulder, she managed to turn her head slightly, just enough to see the knife raised high above her head, the moonlight flashing in her face as the blade cut through the air. Without thinking, Nica threw her arm back over her head, blocking Chucky's knife attack and wrapping it around Chucky's head before catapulting him over her shoulder and once again into the wardrobe door, the wood splintering as he made impact. As he lay there Nica felt at her neck, the burning pain from Chucky's teeth marks made all the more real as she ran her fingers over the indentations he had made on her skin. Before she knew it, Chucky had once more recovered and stood bolt upright again, lunging at Nica while her guard was down, the two of them falling backwards off Alice's bed, Nica banging her head on the wooden floor of the bedroom. Chucky immediately shot up and started to go to work on Nica, instantly grasping her thick hair in his hands and repeatedly slamming her head into the floor, screaming at her, furious, calling her every name he could think of.

"Think you can fuck with me?" He screamed as he started to kick her in the stomach, before kneeling beside her and raining punches down on her face. Nica didn't see much as she fought to hold her hands up, every punch of Chucky's connecting in some place that would send Nica's body into shock, the agony tearing up and down her body. At this moment, as soon as he stopped throwing his fists at her, she noticed him grab the knife and once more raise it high above his head, an evil glint in his eyes as he stared Nica out.

"Say 'hi' to that fucking slut mother of yours for me." He hissed with a smile screwed across his stitched, little face.

The knife came crashing down, only inches away as Nica, using every bit of strength she had left, managed to roll out of the way, the knife making a 'thudding' noise as it became embedded in the solid wood floor, Chucky trying desperately to yank it free, both hands wrapped around the handle. Before he could defend himself, Nica sat up and swung her arm, catching Chucky right in the middle of his face and sending him flying back as he disappeared under Alice's bed. Seizing the opportunity, Nica started to move, crawling as quick as she could, reaching the hall and the top of the stairs, about to make her way down as she heard the 'chink' of the knife suddenly yanked free of the floor, the evil cackle of Chucky and the rapid, tiny footsteps as he immediately gave chase. Turning and casting her dazed vision over the staircase before her, Nica grabbed one of the carved spindles of the banister and was just about to make her way down when again she heard the same blood curdling scream, the murderous rage dripping from every decibel, as Chucky landed once more on her back. Wrapping his hands around her neck, they both fell end over end down the wooden staircase, crashing through the spindles and free falling the remaining ten feet, landing yards apart on the cold floor of the living room, broken wood clattering to the floor around them. As Chucky sat up he spun his head around, not absolutely sure where Nica was.

Until he saw her...

She was laying on her side, with her back to him, completely still, not moving an inch. Not taking anything for granted, Chucky stood a little uneasy on his feet at first, but quickly making his way to Nica as he reached down, grabbing his knife as he walked, raising it by his side, ready for any little trick she may have planned. As he approached her, he placed a hand on her shoulder and pulled her onto her back, the sight that greeted him sending joy racing through his demented little body. As Nica lay, unsure what had happened, Chucky could see quite clearly that there was now a foot and a half of a spindle from the staircase protruding from Nica's chest, a pool of blood spilling out, Nica's t-shirt torn wide open as she lay shaking. She coughed suddenly, startling Chucky as blood erupted from her mouth and dribbled down her cheek, Nica screamed in intense agony as she tried to move, seizing as soon as the pain jolted through her chest. As he looked again, Chucky noticed the scarring above her breast, the crude stitches disfiguring her for life, the result of their previous tussle back in San Diego. Thinking on his feet, Chucky lowered the tip of his knife to Nica's chest, her face twisted in fear and pain as Chucky slid the tip of his knife under one of Nica's stitches, slowly levering up until the stitch came free, popping from the fleshy seams.

"Where's Alice?" He asked quietly, his voice even more menacing as he lowered his tone.

As he asked this, an explosion occurred in Nica's brain. All she could think of was John Bishop, telling her, assuring her, she would know what to do when the time came. How she would be able to send this abomination back down the path that would eventually lead to his demise, and the cold, merciless embrace of Damballa.

Nica knew now what she had to do.

"She's not here." Nica whispered, her body feeling cold. "She left... Yesterday... She knew you were coming... I told her."

Chucky narrowed his eyes, slightly confused.

"Now how did you know that?" He asked as he scraped the flat edge of the knife across Nica's chest.

"Your friend told me." Nica gasped. "John Bishop."

"Nice try bitch." Chucky smiled. "That piece of shit's been dead for almost as long as you have."

"No." Nica interjected. "That's how I know... Alice is useless to you."

"What do you mean?" Chucky snarled.

"She isn't the one... The first one I mean... She never was... It's Andy Barclay!" Nica was struggling to breathe, he lungs beginning to fill with blood.

"What?" He snapped, suddenly noticing something besides Nica. There on the floor, lay a solitary white flower. An orchid, no less. Throwing back his head, Chucky began to laugh hysterically as Nica lay dying before his very eyes. "Did he give you that?" He asked.

Nica slowly looked to the orchid, then back to Chucky, nodding gingerly.

"I don't believe it. That miserable fucker's still doing his shit with the flowers?" He laughed again. "He did tell you that the white ones mean impending death didn't he?"

Nica once again nodded.

"Your precious new best friend gave you that fucking thing then sent you off to die?" He laughed between sentences as he enjoyed himself, savouring every moment.

As Chucky laughed, he suddenly found himself being drowned out. The laughter coming from none other than Nica Pirce as she lay before him, slowly choking on her own blood. Disturbed and wary, Chucky held the knife up, aggression plastered over his face once more.

"Why the fuck are you laughing?" He asked as Nica's laughter turned to a broken, but loud cackle.

"Because..." She started. "That one's yours."

Nica turned her head and looked at Chucky's feet, her laughter echoing through the house. As Chucky looked down, knife in hand, he slowly and carefully took a step backwards, the white orchid beneath his tiny foot suddenly exposed and bringing a chill to Chucky's spine, panic to his very soul. As though it was too much to take, Chucky suddenly flew into a rage, lowering the knife, the very tip resting on the bare skin of Nica's chest.

"Where the fuck is Alice?" He screamed. "I swear I'm gonna kill that fucking kid just for the fun of it!"

Nica shook her head as the smile slowly disappeared from her face, a more serious look now taking shape.

"That dies with me." She whispered, another cough as even more blood began to make its way from her mouth.

Chucky applied more pressure to the knife and pressed on harder, the blade starting to break skin as a drop of blood formed, slowly growing to a tiny pool, resting in the indentation caused by the pressure of the blade.

"I mean it you fucking crippled bitch." His eyes burned with fire as he looked into Nica's very soul, delivering his threats with as much venom as he could muster. "You tell me where that fucking kid is or I'll make this the slowest death you could ever wish for!"

Suddenly, as Nica coldly stared straight back into Chucky's eyes, her hands shot up and wrapped around the knife handle, smothering Chucky's hand underneath. Chucky taken completely by surprise.

"Go fuck yourself cocksucker!" She spat, before immediately plunging the knife into her own chest, the blade cutting through the tendon, muscle and organs as it effortlessly sliced into Nica's heart, the coldness washing over her as she felt the impending darkness, the comfort and release of death itself.

"NOOOOOO!" Chucky screamed, his anger erupting in a volcano of abuse, the sudden red and blue flashing lights of the police car in the street streaming in through the window of the living room. Somebody obviously finding the dismembered remains of Marie and her lovable little pooch Henry.

Within a minute, the cold, lifeless body of Nica Pirce lay alone in the living room of the house as Chucky disappeared into the night, furious at the way his plans had been disrupted once more.

But at least he knew now what to do.

Find Andy Barclay.

And that wouldn't take long at all...

Shortly after Nica drew her last breath, her heart thumping its final beat as the blood ceased circulating around her battered and bruised body, her eyes closed and she welcomed the ice cold embrace of death. Fear, pain, apprehension all giving way as she was dragged into the icy abyss.

Her body still, lifeless, limp...

Nothing at all left for Nica to savour, to live for...

But then something...

Light...

Blinding, searing, beautiful white light...

She flickered her eyes and found the light too powerful to take in, her eyelids fighting every command she gave them to face the brightness, see what was happening. Eventually she managed to open them and take in her surroundings. Nothing but light. Nothing to the side, nothing underneath, just a vast empty void. She felt different. What was the feeling? She struggled to think of the word. Happy? That could be it. No, it was something more, something exceeding happiness. It was peace.

She felt at peace.

Filled with emotion as the light dimmed slightly to reveal two figures in the distance. She narrowed her eyes, peering into the light, the figures starting to take shape. As she recognised them, her face lit up, beaming her beautiful smile as she felt a wave of ecstasy race through her, burning with love. Her mother and Barb stood waving, beckoning Nica to join them the joy across their faces as they welcomed her. As Nica looked down at her wheelchair she felt the will to do something she had never done before. Placing her palms on the hand rests she pushed herself up with ease, her legs straightening under her weightless body as she let go, allowing her legs to push her the rest of the way as Nica finally stood up. Putting one foot in front of the other she walked forward one step, her hands leaping to her mouth in astonishment as she felt a tear of pride roll down her cheek. Dropping her hands to her chest as she gave her mother and her sister a graceful smile, Nica noticed something else. The scar that had been forced upon her was now gone. Lowering her t-shirt to take a look she felt relief as she took in the view. The clear, perfect skin was glowing with radiance, a beautiful peachy tone. Before she knew it she'd taken a few more steps and suddenly felt the warm embrace of love as her mother placed an arm around her, Barb following, welcoming her in and turning to walk with her. Into the light and on, troubles well and truly left behind, her life ending with accomplishment as her final task of keeping Alice safe and relieving her family of their tormenter had reached a conclusion. She stopped suddenly, looking back into the distance, the wheelchair, standing out against the sheer white brilliance surrounding them, a black lump of twisted metal that had carried her throughout her entire life. Offering a smile of gratitude Nica slowly turned her head, giving her mother a hug before wrapping an arm around Barb, all three of them walking slowly off into the light as the brightness wrapped around them, welcoming them with a warmness.

Farewell to life...

And onwards...

In death she had finally found peace...

Farewell Nica Pirce.